The Autobiography of a Flea, Book 4

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In earlier journals describing my titillating adventures among the sexually obsessed human species, I hope I've modestly established the fact that while I am merely a Flea who must depend upon the ancient profession of bloodsucking to sustain my life, I'm a rather extraordinary creature insofar as my talent for being aware of the behavior and motivations of the lustfully inclined humans upon whom I feed is concerned. It's a wise parasite who knows the foibles of his hosts. I have enjoyed such wisdom since birth.

I cannot pretend to understand my own unique ability, nor the workings of a capricious destiny which apparently chose to single me out from all others of my kind – dispensing upon me the gift of intelligent observation as well as the additional capacity of communicating as exhibited herein.

I know only that it is, at times, a rather strenuous responsibility for one in my lowly walk (or should I more accurately say leap) of life. When going briskly about my surreptitious business of obtaining a living by deftly (and, often, dangerously) drinking the nourishing blood of the human beings that is so necessary to the continuance of my very existence, I'm frequently distracted by my own fascination for their bizarre and active mating techniques – to which they seem considerably addicted over and beyond their need for food and sleep. The human appetite for carnal pleasure and sexual satisfaction is indeed a voracious trait of their specie.

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